#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near! The saints shall meet
467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—
I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind. The vane a little to the east
199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
Presentiment is that long shadow o… Indicative that suns go down; The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
